


Auld Lang Syne

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Developing Relationship, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian comes to Tim's rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Lang Syne

New Year’s Eve in Gotham City means fireworks and the annual Wayne Enterprises party. It’s a huge event, one where half of the city’s self-proclaimed ruling class stops by to show their faces so that the paparazzi camped out in bushes and in trees can plaster their glittery selves all over the papers come morning.

Tim quickly loses track of who’s wearing what and who’s currently in deals with who.

Everyone who’s anyone at the party comes up to speak to the only Drake in the building and Tim can’t possibly be expected to remember so many names. With the merger between his parents’ company and Wayne Enterprises looming in the coming year, many of those people only want the prestige of being able to say that they’ve rubbed shoulders with one of the few people considered royalty in their city.

It gets old fast.

After the fourth or fifth heiress comes up to him expecting a turn on the dance floor, Tim makes his excuses and heads to the bar at the far side of the room.

Normally the high society types scoff at the idea of serving any drinks that aren’t alcoholic, but this is a Wayne Enterprises event where there are more nonalcoholic drinks than anything else. On top of having drinks that Tim can drink (as opposed to the champagne Tim has had to pass on at least five times in the past hour), the bar also has the added bonus of being as far away from the social throng as Tim can get without actually admitting defeat and going home.

Tim sits down on a clean barstool at the far end of the bar and slouches so that he’s in a comfortable position, hunched over with one of his elbows resting on the top of the polished wood counter. As he waits for the bartender to get to him, Tim pulls his phone out of his pocket and busies himself with flicking through various screens. Several seconds pass until Tim lands on something that looks marginally more interesting than the party going on around him and lets the game serve as a distraction.

The bartender comes and goes in record time, leaving Tim with a nonalcoholic cocktail and the freedom to focus on the brightly colored game on his phone.

"Don’t you know that it’s rude to spend all night on your phone."

Thanks to how close their families have been for years, Tim could recognize Damian Wayne’s voice even in the middle of a deafening concert. At a party where most of the guests keep their voices down to a dull roar and where none of the loudest guests keep their court over by Bruce Wayne, there’s hardly anything to interfere with Tim’s hearing.

Already rolling his eyes, Tim turns around with a retort ready on the tip of his tongue.

"The party is boring, Damian," he says as he looks up at the younger man’s smirking face. “The music is old. The guests are nosy. Do you know how many people have been trying to get me to let them know the exact date of the company merger so they can run out and get stocks?" He stops speaking in order to pause his game and then narrows his eyes at Damian. “At least I’m not leaving the party like I want to."

Damian shakes his head, still looking faintly amused. “Do you look like an inside trader to them," he asks lowly, pulling out the chair next to Tim and dropping his weight in the spindly metal barstool.

Damian looks like his parents, with Talia al Ghul’s coloring and Bruce Wayne’s black hair and sharp blue eyes. He’s also built like his father and the chair creaks alarmingly before settling down. “Why don’t they understand that we’re just the heirs to the empire? Father won’t even tell me when it is and he has me working on a project for one of the departments merging with your parents’."

Tim finds himself smiling at Damian despite their history of sniping at each other as though their almost seven-year age difference shouldn’t lend to more maturity between them.

"You know more than I do, at least," he says, setting down his phone with a dull clatter and then reaching for his cocktail. After taking a deep pull on his straw, Tim licks his lips and shifts against his seat until he can get comfortable while facing Damian fully. “My parents have me running a small electronics company out of the way of the big merger."

"Really," Damian says, looking surprisingly impressed with Tim. “You’re running your own company?"

"It’s supposed to be necessary practice," Tim says, shrugging as though Damian’s regard doesn’t interest him in the slightest. “If I do well enough on the small company, I assume they’ll present me with a high position in the company by my thirtieth birthday." A birthday that isn’t as far off as Tim would like to pretend and he frowns down at his cocktail for a brief moment before forcing himself to think of other things.

Looking Damian over, Tim notices little details that other people have probably missed in their attempts to make nice with one of the heirs to Gotham’s favored family (and their expansive fortune).

He notices the curving crescent moon-shaped scar near Damian’s left eye that Tim remembers giving him during a fencing lesson gone awry. The loose knot of Damian’s red tie hanging down around his neck gets a smile as well, if only for the knowledge that the Wayne family valet would not approve. Even the spots of stubble that darken the younger man’s strong jaw get more than a passing glance from Tim’s eyes and before he even realizes it, he’s staring hard at Damian’s features as though he hasn’t known the younger man for most of his life.

"You could be out there," Tim says, waving one hand in the direction of the people out dancing on the dance floor. With the clock fast approaching midnight, everyone has made the move from the tables to the floor in preparation for the new year and the frantic rush to kiss the closest available person. “You really don’t have to keep my company. It’s not like you’re twelve again with only your siblings to keep your company — or me. At least there are people here near your age this time."

It’s Damian’s turn to shrug. He gives Tim an undecipherable look and purses his lips in a brief, tight frown.

"They only see me as a walking dollar sign," he says sharply. “You’ve spoken to them. What makes you think that I’d want to spend any more time with those people?" Without waiting for Tim to collect himself enough to find a retort, Damian pushes on. Softening his voice somewhat, Damian says, “Besides, you’re the only one in this room that can keep up with me."

"Thanks for the compliment," Tim says as warmth blooms in his chest. He fights against the urge to play with his hair, a nervous tic that only seems to appear whenever he and Damian are in close quarters.

Damian bares his teeth in a fierce smile that looks good on him. “You’re welcome," he says easily before he stands up. “Now if you don’t mind, I think we should get out of here before some of those vultures descend on us because they want a kiss at midnight."

Tim makes a face and downs the rest of his nonalcoholic cocktail in one long swallow. Blotting his mouth with a napkin, Tim doesn’t waste any time pushing to his feet when Damian starts to head toward one of the service doors hidden in the wooden panels of the walls. “You have someplace we can go?"

"The penthouse is empty right now," Damian says. “Unless you’d prefer to spend the night fending off desperate celebrities in the public eye, that is."

Shaking his head, Tim makes a disgusted noise. “Of course not," he says sharply. “Let’s go before they notice us."


End file.
